Healing Hands
by Mrs Bella Riddle
Summary: Even Lord Voldemort can be distracted in battle, even Lord Voldemort can be a victim of a curse and even Lord Voldemort can occasionally need to accept help. He wished he did not have to.


Written for your favourite couple scenario at HPFC with scenario six "Something bad happens to one half of your couple, the other half attempts to help."

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His pale fingers curled around the handle of his wand oddly casual as if he was holding a quill rather than a weapon that had claimed hundreds of lives.

The scarlet robed figures were not as casual. Their eyes were wide, their faces were pale and their grip on their wands shook. They may oppose him, but at least they were wise enough to respect and fear him. It was almost enough to make him laugh as a perfectly aimed curse hit one of the Aurors. The cry of pain and spray of blood satisfied him immensely.

Of course he was slightly distracted by the Aurors four comrades who tried to be noble and to defend the fallen. They all possessed foolish notions of morality.

Thin lips moved upwards in a sign of cool amusement as he deflected the curses with ease.

Yet, it was enough to divert his attention.

He did not realise anything was amiss until a high pitched shriek from a woman he had no problems identifying as Bellattrix sounded from a position somewhere on his right. His dark bloodied eyes flicked up from his future victims to observe the girl. Not even twenty and having already taken the mark he would have been disappointed if she would have been injured or killed. She had clear potential. It was the only reason he had given the mark to a woman.

But no.

She was fine. In fact the Auror she had been duelling was bleeding and moaning on the ground before her. Instead she was looking up at him. Her mouth was wide as if she was screaming something he could not hear as she rushed towards him. He did not know why.

The answer came to him a second later.

Something connected with his back. The curse cut through his robes and skin like it was only air. Pain flared from the wound as his body succumbed to the mortality of flesh and he crumpled forward. Landing on his hands and knees, his grip on his wand did not slacken. However, before he could attack, a hand clutched his arm. He did notice that the hand was gentle and feminine; he only tensed and tried to strike.

He did not get the chance.

Darkness erupted before his eyes and bands tightened around him for a moment until he could finally breathe and see.

The feeling of apparition had barely left him before he snapped. Throwing himself onto his back, despite the fact his body protested the sharp pain, he gripped the arm that had held him. His nails dug into the smooth skin as he glared furiously and directed his wand at the woman's face.

"I- I'm sorry, my Lord," Bellatrix said in anguish as if she was the one who had been cursed and not him. "I'm so sorry. I just couldn't get to you in time. I know I should not have touched you without permission, but I had to get you out of there. I did not know if you were hurt- not to see you could ever be really injured with your-"

"What happened?" he interrupted as he sat up trying to avoid the pain even he could feel in his back. "Tell me."

"It happened so fast," she murmured quickly. "I just saw an Auror advancing on your back when you were distracted. Filthy coward. I tried getting there, but there was not enough time. The curse hit you."

She lowered her head as if she was ashamed. He ignored her and pressed his hands on the floor behind him to stand. His robes swung around his thin limbs and his vision blurred. The quick movement combined presumably with the sticky liquid dripping down his back was in hindsight not a wise choice. He could have leaned on Bellatrix who was still kneeling on the floor, but he was too proud to rely on her. He tried to remain upright by using his own strength.

He failed.

His limbs were too weak and he fell again, only narrowly having the chance to fling his arms in front of him to save himself.

"Master!" Bellatrix cried in panic. "Please let me help you!"

He lifted his head. His gaze was cruel and cold as she kneeled beside him. Her hands were extended, but she was wise enough to not close the rest of the distance between them. The thought of accepting assistance from anyone was unappealing. He did not need to. His power was unparalleled.

However, his body was weak. He could feel the warm sticking substance trailing down his back and he could feel his body losing strength.

There was one simple answer.

"Fine," he snapped his tone filled with anger and disapproval. "You may assist, but ensure you succeed and do it quickly."

"Of course, my Lord," she murmured softly. He was pleased that he could hear quivers in her voice.

Glaring at her one last time to ensure his message was implemented, he turned onto his stomach so that his back and his wound were facing the ceiling. He did not relinquish his grip on his wand. To have his back to anyone unnerved him. Of course he was immortal and could not die, but he did not want to test what would happen to him if a Killing Curse did strike him. He did not think his body would survive.

Now with permission, he felt her hands on him. He forced himself not to flinch as the tip of her wand lightly touched the wound. It was a sign of the injury that even Voldemort's face contorted in pain before he managed to compose himself. Her hand joined her wand, but thankfully it touched his cool skin rather than the wound.

"My Lord, would you- I- it might be easier if you to- took off your robe..."

It was enjoyable to hear how scared she was. It was the only thing that made him comply to what he considered a reasonable request. His fingers started unbuttoning the robes and his grip shook a little in a sign that his body was not at its best before his chest was completely bare. He did not allow her to assist, but merely slid the fabric from his shoulders and settled back onto the soft carpet now only in his briefs. The additional vulnerability only worsened his mood.

Resisting the urge to curse under his breath or to curse her, he stared straight ahead as her wand and hand settled onto his back again. He could see the lights from a charm and feel the tingling sensation from his wound as she started her work. Her hand remained on his back moving slowly and cautiously brushing against his skin.

It was not exactly unpleasant. Her fingers were warm and soft, but he was too frustrated and furious to think that way at that moment He only accepted her help with reluctance and vowed he would never need to accept any form of assistance from anyone ever again.


End file.
